Good Boys (3/?)
Good Boys, Chapter 3
Rating: NC-17
WC: 1545
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is about to change this.
A/N: Just on for a second today to post, no time for notes! You are all sunshine!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
“I’m sorry about - yesterday,” Erik said the next evening as they stood at the doors to their suites. “A moment’s impulse. It won’t happen again, Charles.”
Charles felt something strange hum in his stomach when Erik said his name. The way Erik’s voice curved around the word seemed to belie the rest of the sentence.
“It’s not that I’m not - flattered, Erik,” Charles said dully. “But quite obviously it’s out of the question.”
Then Erik froze and stared at him. “Why?” Erik said.
“It’s - illegal, to begin with,” Charles said. “Not to mention immoral.”
“And, no doubt, fattening,” Erik said. He braced a hand on the wall next to Charles and Charles flinched. “But as long as you don’t mind.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t mind,” Charles said. His pulse was racing. Erik seemed to be moving closer. Charles could still feel the impress of Erik’s mouth on his lips, remember how utterly unlike kissing girls it had been, the stubble grazing his cheek and Erik’s tongue plundering his mouth and Erik’s arms sliding around his waist, and Erik had tasted like something strange Charles thought might be aluminum, and for reasons of purely scientific interest he had allowed the kiss to continue until he had found himself letting out that extremely unscientific little sound.
“You’re trembling,” Erik said, matter-of-factly.
“I’m not,” Charles managed, trying to steady his breathing. This response was highly irregular. An untrained observer might almost have mistaken it for desire. Erik’s face was closer than before and Erik was grinning his unnerving grin.
“Please don’t kiss me again, Erik,” Charles said, hating that his voice sounded as if he were begging for the opposite. He shrank back against the wall. There was nowhere to go.
Erik leaned in and bridged the gap between their mouths, slipping one hand around Charles’ waist. And it was just like their last kiss, rough and strange and different from a girl, and Erik’s scent flooded his nostrils, leather and sweat, and finally he tugged free and mumbled, “Erik, don’t” and Erik looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you said, ‘kiss me again, Erik’” and kissed him again, and Charles couldn’t help making that noise - Charles Xavier did not make such noises - or fisting his hands in Erik’s jacket and pulling his body closer and pushing his tongue against Erik’s so their mouths meshed like two stray pieces of a puzzle, shoved together by impatient fingers whether they quite fit or not. Then Erik’s hands had gripped his hips and pulled him up the wall and Charles’ legs were straddling Erik’s waist and he was still clinging to Erik’s jacket and Erik let out something between a grunt and a moan into his mouth, hands holding him steady against the wall, and Charles’ arms wreathed around his neck, and he had never kissed anyone like this and was going on blind instinct, his entire body singing strangely at Erik’s touch, and he kept kissing him so he wouldn’t have to look at him and risk seeing himself in Erik’s eyes, shoved against a wall in total disarray and devouring Erik’s mouth like a starving man.
Erik pulled his mouth away first, and Charles muttered, “Don’t,” and leaned closer and kissed him again, but Erik was looking at him almost in panic and his lips found Erik’s cheek instead of his mouth, but that was good, too, and he found that he was kissing Erik’s face and then his lips slid to the gap where Erik’s neck emerged from his turtleneck and he teased the flesh with his tongue and Erik’s breath caught and Erik pulled back and looked seriously at him. “Don’t do that, Charles,” he said. “I’ll think you want to sleep with me if you keep doing that.”
Charles did it again.
“Charles I’m glad you admit it but I’m not a good start for you,” Erik said, his voice strangely rough. “You don’t want to be ruined, Charles. I’d ruin you. We can’t all be good English boys.”
Charles didn’t stop kissing him. Erik was an undiscovered country. Charles’ mouth began an expedition along the edge of his jaw, his chin, the side of his ear. Erik shivered at the touch and Charles whispered, “That?” and kissed him again.
“Stop it, Charles,” Erik said. “I was just proving a point. You don’t really want it from me. None of the things I’d do to you. You want it gentle and languorous with tea and sandwiches being brought in and I would shackle you to the bedpost and make you forget every single word you know except my name.”
Charles gasped.
“Or was I wrong, Charles?” Erik asked, and leaned closer and bit Charles’ neck, making Charles’ whole body shudder against him. “Is Charles Francis Xavier a filthy irredeemable little slut who wants me to take him and do unspeakable things to him until he can’t walk or think straight, until every inch of his perfect white little body bears the mark of my touch?”
“Erik, please,” Charles said, shifting uncomfortably against the wall, and Erik’s eyes narrowed.
“Good God, Charles,” he murmured, “you’re hard.”
“Erik, that’s enough,” Charles muttered, flushing.
“Is that what it takes?” Erik asked, and Charles could not think of an answer, trying desperately to calm himself, to banish the embarrassing display in his trousers, because Erik had him at his mercy and knew it, and it would have been mortifying if he’d been able to think about anything other than the filthy delightful things that were pouring from Erik’s lips.
“Have you ever tried cocksucking, Charles?” Erik asked, looking appraisingly at him. “You have a perfect mouth for it. Do you know how exquisite those lips of yours would look wrapped around my cock? I bet you could take it. I bet you’d enjoy it. I bet you’ve thought about it already. ”
“Erik, stop,” Charles managed.
“You don’t want me to stop,” Erik said, and he’d shifted one arm so it grasped Charles’ waist and supported him and slid the other one free, and his hand grasped Charles through the fabric of his khakis.
“Erik,” Charles said, “I don’t know why I’m -- I’m not - -”
“You are, Charles. You’ve tried not to be. You thought you were a bad boy, didn’t you? Swaggering around Oxford and drinking and telling girls they were groovy? You’ve never been really bad in your life. The only temptation you ever yielded to was when you pulled me out of the water, because I terrified you, and you liked being terrified.”
“You don’t terrify me,” Charles said, looking levelly at him out of the haze of his arousal. “Has it occurred to you, Erik, that I could make you stop at any time?”
“It’s occurred to me that you haven’t,” Erik said. “And it’s not because you’re practicing control. It’s because you like not knowing what I’d do next. It’s why I can beat you at chess. And if you ever tampered with me, you’d lose that. So you won’t. You can’t. And instead you’re going to surrender inch by inch, your ivory chessmen and then your ivory body and you’ll know what an awful idea it all is, what a bad investment I am, but you’d rather that than lose me. Because in a strange way you are right. We are equals. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Erik, it’s - you’re not a bad investment.”
“You’re farther gone than I thought, Charles,” Erik said, leaning in and kissing the side of Charles’ neck.
“I’ve felt the good in you,” Charles said, shivering as Erik’s teeth grazed his flesh where he knew it would leave a mark. “I’ve seen everything. I know what they made you. I know what you are. You’re better than you think.”
“You hope,” Erik hissed, and Erik’s hand slid into Charles’ trousers.
“Erik,” Charles said warningly, feeling Erik’s hand wrap around his length.
“Not bad for an English boy,” Erik breathed, beginning to caress him in slow strokes. “How do you like it, Charles? Do you even know how you like it?”
“Erik, I-”
“I bet you tried to think about girls, Charles,” Erik said, slowly increasing his speed, watching Charles’ breath hitch and hammering out a rhythm from Charles’ helpless thrusts. “I bet you wanted to think about girls. But you couldn’t, could you? And now you’ll be stuck, you’ll think of this the next time you touch yourself - harder? All right - and what a stereotype you’ll be, an Oxonian with a hard-on for German boys in leather jackets.”
“I prefer to think of you as a nice Jewish boy,” Charles managed, and then Erik began laughing and he increased the pace again, and Charles began thrusting desperately into his hand and Charles’ hands braced on his shoulders and Erik laughed and muttered, “You should see yourself, Charles” and Charles flushed and came with an awkward jerk of the hips, his seed coating Erik’s hand.
He sagged back against the wall and slid his legs down from around Erik’s waist and Erik kissed him on the neck and whispered, “And now good night, Charles,” and somehow he was in his room and he staggered to the bed and was asleep almost instantly.
Chapter Four